


Say...Everything.

by Scavenge4Dreams



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coma, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Steve, Inspired by Music, M/M, Tony Feels, Tony Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scavenge4Dreams/pseuds/Scavenge4Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony just wished Steve would wake up and say something.</p><p>Or just wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Say Something

Blue eyes stared at the bland white ceiling, unseeing.  Eyelids dipped closed, and then opened on instinct, blinking away the lingering dryness, but the eyes remained dull, lacking that _spark,_ that _gleam_ , the brightness that tells of life.

Minute after hour after day, of blinking, of sleeping…of staring mindlessly into space as the world went by without him. 

A man lost once to time, and now time was trying to lay claim to her favourite once again.

At least this time Steve was warm.

Tony hoped so anyway, as he smoothed non-existent creases from the uppermost of a veritable pile of blankets that engulfed the still form.

In a move that had become all too familiar, Tony brushed his fingers through soft blond hair, as he spoke in a mix of petulant demanding and shameless begging, “ _Say something._ _I'm giving up on you_.”  There was a decidedly teasing lilt, but echoing somewhere in the depths of the words was an almost hollow ache.

* * *

 

Tony wasn’t sure which quasi-medical professional had decided that a fortnight was a reasonable lapse of time to wait when expecting Captain America to recover from an almost vegetative state, but he’d like to ask them to defend their reasoning.

And then sick Coulson on them.

When SHIELDS med-bay staff had started to bandy about terms such as ‘long-term care’ and ‘facility’, only Bruce’s heroic efforts to maintain a façade of his usual calm had allowed Tony to keep his own cool.

Captain America. National Icon. Hero.

Tony Fucking Stark’s goddamn better half.

And it didn’t matter which way of reasoning you came to the party with, there was no way Steve Rogers was going to end up in a long term care facility.

Not on Tony’s watch.

Thankfully, it seemed that Steve had pretty much assumed the same thing, and rather than have his lover have to commit some egregious legal shenanigans to steal Steve’s non-cooperative body from his hospital bed, the Captain had simply had the fore-thought to make Tony his Next-of-Kin.

It had taken Tony the better part of the past two days to come to terms with the fact that not only did Steve apparently trust him, with his life on the battle field and his heart off the battle field… but also with his _life_ off the battlefield _._

_Steve trusted him, above all others._

Tony Stark, fuck-up extraordinaire.  He’d had so some variation of just about every derogatory label possible applied to himself at some point: selfish, money-hungry, egotistical, man-whore, liar, and murderer. 

And yet, _Steve_ had chosen him.

Tony really almost wished he hadn’t. The responsibility was staggering, and the fear had settled as a cloying, constant blanket, somewhere beneath the stifling layer of frustration, the swirling helplessness and the all-consuming hope.

Tony _would not_ let him down.

The white document was crumpled in one hand, hiding where Steve’s neat blue scrawl deemed him responsible for the life of his lover. Tony pressed his lips to the still hand caught in his other, murmuring against warm skin, _“I'll be the one, if you want me to.”,_ and as unsure as the softly spoken statement was, the truth of the matter remained… even if Tony couldn’t have faith in himself, he could at least have faith in Steve’s faith.

* * *

 

It was odd, Tony mused, odd, how easily one maintained their courage and hope in the absence of knowledge.  Yet, in the face of reality, it had all just crumbled around him.  

Scans indicated significant, long lasting damage, inhibiting brain function.

_Brain damaged._

_Captain America._

Tony still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.  He was well aware, in a peripherally scientific manner, that Steve wasn’t indestructible, wasn’t invulnerable.  But it was _Steve._ Things like this couldn’t happen to Steve, who walked away from 40ft falls and gunshots…he wasn’t breakable.    _He_ wasn’t supposed to be the one who never came back.

 _“Anywhere…”_ Tony was almost startled by the word as it slipped passed his lips unaided; his mind lost to his wandering thoughts. It was true though, hell or high water, rain, hail or shine. _“I would have followed you…”_ he finished softly, yet it was hardly comforting, with Steve so far beyond reach.

* * *

 

The room was dark, the inky shadow of clouds in the overcast night sky engulfing the comforting illumination that usually crept through the windows late into the evening.  Everything was the same as it had been for the past month. 

With one exception.

That very first day, when everything had been touch and go, but no one had been worried it would devolve into, _this,_ Clint had managed to commandeer a softly padded, leather upholstered, waiting room chair from somewhere.

And tonight, for the first time since the incident, that chair was empty.

And in the bed, Steve slept on, oblivious to the loss of his lover’s constant presence.

The sky was rumbling ominously when the door slid open several hours later, an oppressive growl to suit the sombre atmosphere.  Tony lingered in the doorway, backlit by the safety lighting pipes of the darkened hallway. Dark rimmed eyes, set in a washed out face, pale skin showcased by the dark contrast of his tangled bedhead and unkempt facial hair. 

One arm held protectively against his side, Tony limped into the room, a slow shuffling shamble, obviously favouring his right leg.  Ignoring his chair, Tony padded straight to the bed, eyes riveted on the shadowed blond and sweep of pale skin, reassuring himself that nothing had changed in his absence.

His absence.

Between them, the other four members of their little superhero family had been quite adequately covering the heroics market…until earlier that evening when an organic based, engineering enhanced, horde of lab grown beasts had attacked down-town New York.

They hadn’t exactly asked for _his_ help, though.

Instead, Tony, on a return from the bathroom down the hall, had caught the tail end of a frantic conversation between two SHIELD agents, about consulting with _Reed Richards_ for engineering help _._

He’d been suited up and onsite within 10 minutes.

Because although leaving had almost killed him, Steve’s disappointment and anger when he found out that Tony had abandoned the team when they needed him, most definitely would.

That had been 6 hours ago, but the situation was finally under control and Tony was back where he belonged, and everything was fine. 

Steve was still unresponsive, either trapped within his own mind or… no, he had to be trapped. The alternative was too awful to contemplate. Tony himself, sporting a few busted ribs, a sprained ankle and a concussion from a high speed impact with the asphalt, was exhausted, dehydrated, malnourished, emotionally wrecked and completely raw.

Everything was fine.

Ignoring the fact that the bed had issues accommodated just Steve’s serum-enhanced body, Tony slumped down on the edge of the mattress. Plastering himself down Steve side, twinging ribs and ankle be damned, he somehow managed to curl himself around Steve’s upper body, with a leg thrown over Steve’s blanketed form for extra purchase.

He didn’t know if he could do this. 

And he wasn’t worrying about being caught climbing into Captain America’s hospital bed.

He curled impossibly closer to the familiar warmth, wishing for all he was worth that Steve would suddenly wrap him in that ridiculous strength and smother him in unnecessary comfort. 

What made _Steve_ think he could do this ‘falling in love’ thing?

It sucked. It well and truly sucked.  

How was he supposed to cope when it constantly felt like his heart was simultaneously in his throat and sinking through the floor of his stomach? No one ever told him that could happen. No one ever told him that love was this insane mess of contradictions. That at one point it could make him feel larger than life and on top of the world, and in the next, like the bottom had dropped out of his world…

And right now?

Lost, adrift, cold… “ _And I am feeling so small”,_ he murmured, the soft undertone lost in the rumble of the brewing tempest outside.

He’d thought… _he didn’t know what he’d thought._

Love had been a complete unknown. Pepper had been the closest he’d ever come, but even then he’d held something back.

He honestly hadn’t thought himself capable. Hadn’t wanted to be capable.

Until Steve.

Steve, who had refused to let him get away with the shit that would eventually drive them apart. Or refused to react to the shit that would drive them apart, in a way that would drive them apart. Like water off a ducks back.  That was how Steve dealt with all the crazy in Tony’s pond.

If Tony was being completely honest with himself, which was something he usually avoided with a passion and therefore it didn’t happen all that often…but, _if_ he was being honest with himself, the word ‘ _deserve’_ probably had a lot to do with his complete lack of understanding as far as love was concerned.    Deserve in the sense that he didn’t think he did.

After all, how could a _selfish, money-hungry, egotistical, man-whoreing, lying, murderer_ possibly be deserving of love?

Steve had started to realise what a complete and utter lack of understanding Tony had of love, somewhere around the third time Tony overreacted to a conceived fault, sure that Steve would leave.

Tony realised that Steve knew, around the same time that Steve started to pre-empt his side of disagreements with, ‘God, I love you Tony, but…’

Steve realised, that Tony knew that Steve knew, the first time the genius interrupted one of their arguments with ‘I know you love me, but…’

It wasn’t until now though, in this sickening state of constant worry and endless fear, that Tony truly realised he still didn’t have a clue about love. Slightly amused by his epiphany and sure it would charm Steve, he quietly admitted, _“It was over my head. I know nothing at all”._

The old adage of ‘love being there to catch you when you fall’, was full of shit…it meant ‘diving off and freefalling beside you’. Making mistakes, averting and inviting disaster, enjoying freedom or rotting in the fiery pits of hell, and doing the whole fucking thing together.

 _“And I will stumble and fall…”_ the pure honesty tumbled across Steve’s skin in a moist blush of air. Pressing his face against the warmth, gentle acceptance washed over Tony, because of course, now he knew, as in all examples of ‘world defining love’… Steve would be stumbling and falling right beside him.

 _“I'm still learning to love. Just starting to crawl.”_ Tony all but whispered, and it was okay to say that now, when no one was there to hear how uncertain and pitiful he sounded. It was probably okay to say that _to_ Steve as well, even if he _could_ hear, because Steve already knew what a mess he’d gotten himself into, by loving Tony.

Steve knew, and seemed to _like_ it.

* * *

 

It was raining.

Drizzling really; not enough to be invigorating or revitalising, just a nuisance.

A book rested forgotten on Tony’s knees, his fingers having slid from whatever passage they’d been marking, so his thumb could absentmindedly leaf through the pages.  The droplets that wound their way down the glass of the window seized his attention, held it hostage, as surely as his memory held his mind captive.

It had been raining that night too.

 _Really_ raining; pouring down in heavy opaque sheets, thunder rumbling and lightning splitting the sky.

He’d refused to speak about what had happened that night.  

Refused to think about it.

Just the memory was enough.

_Steve’s determined face as he’s shoved Tony away, to safety._

_Looking down powerlessly from his haven, fraught brown meeting reassuring blue as the mutilated mess of twisted metal and shattered concrete had come crashing down, burying Steve beneath._

_The frantic minutes of helpless waiting, as dust settled and the area stabilised._

_The agonising hours of desperate searching, every movement threatening collapse and every second beyond precious._

_And finally – concrete dust encrusted skin, and closed blue eyes, rivulets of red finding path through the grey powder._

_They’d said he was lucky – that even moments later and Steve might well have been dead._

_Tony interpreted this slightly differently. If Steve hadn’t been with him. If the lab hadn’t exploded. If he’d just been faster…_

_“I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you.”_ Tony sighed, and all that could be heard was guilt.

* * *

 

Three months, two days, 14 minutes and 31 seconds.

Tony was tired, worried and lonely. Sick, angry, guilty, ashamed, upset. Devastated.

 _“And I will swallow my pride…”,_ he said softly, leaning against the side of the bed, eyes trained on the blue locked on his, yet no familiarity of affection sparked within.

Tony wanted nothing more than to just continue living his life from the armchair beside this bed. To be with Steve.

Yet, what Tony wanted couldn’t matter.

Steve was not Steve, and Tony had to do what his lover could not. What he knew Steve would want him to do.

His gaze found the brightly shining sun, from where it peaked over the horizon through the window. Despite the unfitting cheer of the morning, Tony couldn’t wrest his attention back, unable to face what he knew he had to do. A blind kiss pressed to lips beneath blind eyes, and he whispered, _“...You're the one that I love, and I'm saying goodbye"._

He was done. 

Turning, he left the room.

Left Steve.

* * *

 

Three months, two days, 14 minutes and 54 seconds.

The door slammed open and Tony stormed back in.

He was Tony fucking Stark.  He did what he wanted.

Actually, he’d lingered outside the door, one hand on the knob for almost ten seconds. Then resolutely, he’d taken two steps down the hallway and caved.

Perhaps what Steve would want, and what he actually needed where two different things anyway.

He might want Tony to live on without him, to continue being Tony and surviving. And Tony would give that to him. It’s what he’d want if the positions were reversed. But he also knew that it would take more than what ‘Tony might want’ to get Steve to leave.   His lover would stay for as long as Tony needed him, and five minutes beside.

Stomping up to the bedside, Tony snarled _, “Say something! I’m giving up on you.”_ It was a repeat of his earlier words, from months before, but the teasing was gone, fading away behind an angry, desperate demand for Steve to just _wake up._

Almost immediately Tony deflated, all anger leaving him in a wash of consuming anguish. Slumping onto the bed, he curled into Steve’s chest, his voice a husky, all but inaudible whimper of choked on tears as he all but begged, _“Say something...”_

* * *

 

“T- _Tony?_ ”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 


	2. What You Mean To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it takes the world almost falling to pieces around you...

 

_He’s asleep._

_Just sleeping._

_Only sleeping._

Tony had to believe, that if he told himself enough times, with enough certainty, eventually it would start sinking in.

_Steve was just sleeping._

It was two in the morning, dark and quiet, and like most normal people, Steve was sleeping.

_Just sleeping._

It was two in the morning, dark and quiet, and like he had for the past three nights, Tony was watching Steve sleep.

_He’s just sleeping._

Tony _knew_ , that if those fluttering lashes were to lift suddenly, lively blue would be revealed.

Tony _knew_ that Steve would smile at him, through the concern that only grew every time he caught Tony staring.

Tony _knew_ that Steve would simply pull him close, unable to offer any true reassurance.

Tony _knew_ all this, because it had happened every night since Steve had left the hospital.

 

The issue wasn’t what Tony _knew._

It was what Tony _feared._

Tony _knew,_ in his mind,that Steve really was just sleeping.

Tony _feared_ that Steve was still laying unresponsive, as he had for what seemed months without end.

Tony _feared_ that this reality, where Steve had ‘woken’, looked at him and said “Tony”…was some sadistic nightmare.

Tony _feared_ that Steve was going to open his eyes, and dull unseeing blue would stare _through_ him again.

And as Tony acknowledged it, thought on it; that fear he’d been so adamantly denying clawed its way into his chest with ferocious abandon, and raked fiery fingers of dreaded foreboding down his spine.

In a flurry of uncontrollable panic, despite _knowing_ he was being completely ridiculous, Tony reached for the _just sleeping_ form of his slumbering lover, needing to touch, to _know._

His hands alighted gracelessly on blue lit skin, more a nudge than his intended caress, and Steve was immediately awake, blue eyes slightly confused, but _alive_ and Tony felt a bubble of relief grow fit to burst beneath his rib cage, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.  

Then those blue eyes cleared as they ghosted over Tony, arc reactor more than sufficient lighting for serum enhanced sight. Finding the tell-tale smudges of exhaustion and slight tremble of hands still resting against his chest,  Steve’s confusion bled away to be replaced by concern.

And Tony’s relief was immediately swallowed by crippling, all consuming, heart pounding _shame._

Snatching his hands back, crossing them defensively across his chest, blocking all but the most stubborn seep of blue glow, Tony physically turned away, curling in on himself.  

Steve had just had a taste of one of his own absolute worst nightmares; being lost to time again, and instead of offering whatever comfort he could, Tony was making it all about himself. 

He’d promised himself, after last nights near hysteria, that it was over, Steve was obviously okay and it was time he manned the fuck up, dealt with his own crap on his own time, and got with the program.

He hadn’t even been able to put his lover first for _one night._

God, what Steve must think…. _Pathetic.  Ridiculous. Selfish_. _Weak._ _Pitifu-_

So caught up in his own self-recrimination, Tony actually startled at the gentle touch to the side of his face, and Steve hushed him with a reassuring whisper, as his fingers slid into Tony’s hair.

With the heavy warmth of Steve’s palm across most of his cheek, Tony’s mind stilled to a stutter. He wondered what Steve had seen in him to prompt the movement, and waited for the likely murmurs of comfort, and half hoped for scalding frustration instead.

 _“Look into my eyes.”_ Steve said firmly, his voice gentle, but brooking no refusal.

Tony just couldn’t.  Couldn’t bear to see the pity, or the concern or any other undeserved sentiment, so he kept his gaze locked to the inky shadow of the wall behind them.

The hand cupping his cheek could have easily forced Tony to face him, could have brought brown to blue with what was probably less effort than it took to do what Steve did.

Steve simply waited.

And that allowance, coupled with the intimacy of the arc reactor lighting, and the affectionate tug of a wayward curl at his temple and the caress across his jaw, and Steve’s deliberately audible breathing, and Steve’s foot nudging him gently in the thigh, as his toes wormed their way beneath naked flesh, was ultimately what broke Tony’s resolve.

He turned his head, and gentle pressure framed his face as a second hand became a cool presence on his other cheek. 

Somehow in the darkness, his eyes found gleaming blue, and Steve spoke, his voice almost reverent, _“You’ll see what you mean to me…”_

Steve soft words broke over him like freezing water, and Tony immediately tried to pull away, because there was _no way_ he was ready to know _that_ , whatever the truth.

Unlike the almost-caress of before, Steve’s grip had no give, and unable to pull back or turn away, Tony resorted to screwing his eyes closed, like a wayward two year old.

Steve’s amused snort somehow conveyed equal measures exasperation and sorrowfulness, and Tony winced at the plain emotion in such a simple noise… _he_ _didn’t want to see the depths of feeling in Steve’s eyes._

He was afraid they’d show the pity, resentment and disappointment he deserved.

And terrified they wouldn’t.

In the end, he just couldn’t.

With a vicious tug, he reeled away from Steve who either had to let go, or hurt him, and that had an obvious outcome.

Tony escaped to the haven of his workshop, a silently shuddering mess of raw emotion.

* * *

 

Tony had decided to allow their fledgling…. whatever it was they had, to die a natural death, rather than being drawn out into something that barely resembled the initial purity.

He’d realized that he needed to let Steve go, before he went beyond, “Look into my eyes…” territory, and ended up on foreign ‘I love you’ ground.

He’d dropped his gaze from the beseeching blue eyes when they’d crossed paths in the hall outside the kitchen, and ignored the hour of hopeful code entering at the workshop door. He’d hardened his heart at the unneeded apology he’d received, although he had given the ‘It’s not you, it’s me speech’, hoping to console. It had been most unappreciated.

Tony had planned to simply avoid Steve for the term of his natural life, and well beyond.

None of which explained why he was lingering in the doorway to their bedroom- his bedroom- where Steve had apparently stayed, despite Tony’s resolve to terminate their relationship – and what did that mean???

It was late, going on midnight, and the shower was hissing in the far room. Tony cringed guiltily; Steve only showered this late when he’d been in the gym all day, and now-a-days, Steve only retreated to the gym for so long when he was upset.   

The shower cut off, and Tony knew he had only seconds to beat a hasty retreat.

He didn’t move.

The bathroom door snicked opened, and steam billowed out around Steve’s exiting form. 

Tony saw the glorious expanses of shower fresh skin and thick blonde hair, water dark and messy from rough handling of a towel.   Yet he noticed only the tell-tale rash of too hot water, already healing to a flushed pink.

He must have made a sound, of concern, or disapproval or distress, or perhaps Steve just sensed him, but hot blue eyes, hard as stone, skewered him to the spot, and Tony wondered if what he’d just realized was cowardice, had lost him what he’d been afraid of having.

Tony would never ask Steve what he’d seen in that instant, what had played out across his own features or been visible in his body language, but Steve had softened, his glacial eyes melting to a warm, compassionate forgiveness.

Padding across the room, Steve had backed Tony into the wall, his arms bracketing his unsettled lover, as he’d dipped his head and snared the slightly anxious brown gaze.

Steve’s used his absolute best ‘Captain America’ voice, the one even Ironman obeyed at least 20% of the time, saying “Don't tell me it's not worth trying for.”  

It wasn’t a question, or a challenge. It was an order. Whatever Tony might think, Steve had made up his mind.

_This? Tony? Them?_

Was worth it.

And when Tony opened his mouth, rushing in, despite having no idea what he was going to say, Steve obviously decided that he didn’t need a response. 

Not yet, anyway.

His own lips swallowed whatever Tony might have said, and Steve guided Tony to bed.

* * *

 

He’d actually fallen asleep.

One moment he’d been running an algorithm through his mind as Steve had finger-traced unseen images into his skin, and then he’d been staring at lifeless blue eyes, so much worse than just plain dead.

He’d woken with a start, and immediately rolled onto his side, out of the sheltered cradle of Steve’s reaching arms, ashamed of his weakness, and not wanting to risk a replay of a few nights previous.

He didn’t know why Steve’s coma was disturbing him so much _now,_ when Steve was alive and well…very well, in fact, as he’d proved multiple times earlier that evening.

He had a niggling feeling it was more than just upset though, more than just fear… there was guilt there too, guilt he didn’t want to recognize for fear of having to own it and deal with it.

For fear of having Steve know.

Because Tony had almost given up on him. 

‘ _I’m giving up on you’_

God, how many times had he said it?

What if Steve had heard… what if that was _all_ he’d heard?

He didn’t even realize he’d been trembling until a Steve sized warmth plastered itself down the length of his body, legs tangling between his, and an arm curling over his waist, drawing him back against a familiar strength.

Tony thought he’d muffled the strangled half whimper that managed to shove passed the all-consuming relief, but apparently not well enough, because Steve’s pressed closer, his lips breathing gentle heat into the shell of Tony’s ear, as he whispered, _“Look into your heart…you will find there's nothing there to hide”._

_His heart?_

_That was worse than Steve’s eyes._

Surely a cold, foreboding cavern of loneliness and anger, if it existed at all.

He could run again. Steve would let him.

_Tony was sure Steve would let him run as many times as he needed to._

That was the thought that brought him up short though, because… what if he  _didn't_ need to.

What if he could have something with Steve… what if he could have lo- _something?_

_His heart?_

And Tony realized, that when he did; when he abandoned his carefully constructed layers of pretentious arrogance, and conceited self-importance, when he went deeper even, than the stifling sense of scathing self-depreciation and carefully denied lack of self-confidence, when he settled at pure, base honesty….. there had never been any real possibility of him giving up on Steve.

And god, did that rock his world.   Who would have known?   _Apparently Tony Stark was a loyal bastard._

It didn't escape his notice that Steve seemed to have known.

* * *

 

The poor battered sofa in the workshop was very old. Tony had…come into possession…of it during his MIT days, and it hadn’t left his side since. It was tattered, torn, stained and bereft of most of its upholstery.

The couch in the workshop was also perfectly suited for Tony’s compact size, and not designed for an overly large person, let alone a physically enhanced super-solider.

It was also in the domain of one especially destructive engineer. 

All of this only partially explained why the couch was spread across the workshop in no less than twelve pieces, with stuffing splattered up a good two-thirds of the walls.

Dummy explained the rest.

Steve lay on the floor, half draped over one cushion that had definitely seen better days, and half over part of the wooden framing.  He knew he should have been offended that Tony hadn’t immediately rushed to his aid, but was too busy enjoying watching Tony cackle like some crack crazed hyena pup.

It had been so long. So, so long, since he’d really heard Tony laugh.   

Sure, he’d spent three months of that in a coma, but really…this was just precious.

There were honest to god _tears_ streaming down his lover’s face, and Tony’s whole body was a shaking, shuddering mess….for all the _right_ reasons.    

Bright brown eyes met his, gleaming with mirth and unreserved affection, and Steve knew that it was the right time to press for an answer. 

 _“Don't tell me it's not worth trying for_ ”, he said again, and this time it was pure _Steve,_ calm and assured and _so, so right._

Sound cut off mid chuckle, and the workshop was engulfed in silence, Tony stared at him, brown eyes shuttering, but the light not leaving them.

Persuasion then.

Starting like he meant to go on, Steve added, “ _I can't help it, there's nothing I want more_ ”. And he meant it.

He’d didn't want Peggy, or Bucky, or Howard, or The Howling Commando’s, or the 1940’s.

He just wanted Tony.

Wholly and unreservedly and completely.

Now to convince Tony.

* * *

 

Tony gasped as Steve changed positions, and shuddered deliciously when the next thrust met a deeper angle, eyes wide, dark and passion blown.  _“There's no love, like your love”,_ Steve breathed, deliberately choosing to say it in the middle of sex, Tony a sweaty, gleaming nymph, with a sparkle in his eyes and the devil in his smile.  

He was sure blurting something like that out at the dinner table would more than throw Tony for a loop.

Something must have clicked though, because Tony’s sudden orgasm left them both dizzy and grinning stupidly.

* * *

 

Steve’s fingers carded through freshly washed tangles. Tony was tucked up beside him on the couch, the remnants of the weekly movie night credits still rolling on the muted screen.  They were alone, the other four having left him to deal with his all but asleep lover. 

Finding the delicate shell of one ear, Steve took advantage of his lover’s drowsiness to murmur softly, “ _No other could give more love…”_  

He grinned, when in his exhausted state, Tony merely nodded, trying to cover with self-assured arrogance.   The creeping flush that stole over pale cheeks was more telling though.

And Steve meant every word.

* * *

 

Steve had spent a long weekend in a waterlogged foreign city, barricading himself into a boring motel room while Tony spent too long days at various meetings.

The last night Tony had rung ahead and apologized for being late getting back, and Steve had ordered nowhere near enough food off a room service menu, and eaten alone in a perfectly luxurious, yet completely hollow room. 

Getting in at 10:30pm, Tony had heaped apologies and grievances against board members and more apologies and questions as to why Steve had bothered coming, because Tony had tried to warn him that these things usually went like this.

Steve had answered decisively, _“There’s nowhere unless you're there, all the time, in every way”,_ because the second Tony had stepped inside, with his damp smelling, sticky clothes and muddy shoes, and incessant chatter and apologies, the room had become the only place in the world that Steve wanted to be.

Tony had fallen silent. 

But a smile had played about his lips for the rest of the trip.

* * *

 

It had worked wonders once before, and so, early one morning, Steve had pressed Tony back into the sheets and simply murmured, _“Look into your heart…”_ before he’d left the room, without looking back.

Tony had caught him not ten minutes later, halfway down the tower. 

 Steve had been pulling his joggers on, when a set of very familiar feet had entered his line of vision. Thinking that said feet should still be in bed sleeping with their body, Steve looked up, and almost swallowed his own tongue at the look Tony was directing his way.

A look that asked if he was aware that the new light in Tony’s eyes was courtesy of the sun currently shining out of Steve’s ass.

Because apparently, Tony Stark still managed to be Tony Stark, even when just realizing he was in love with Steve Rogers.

 _“You can't tell me it's not worth trying for?”_ Steve asked for a third and final time.

Tony simply kissed him.

* * *

 

_He’s sleeping._

_Just sleeping._

_Only sleeping._

Tony had woken suddenly, not from any nightmare that he remembered, but with a steady shadow of anxiety slowly building in his chest.

 

It was two in the morning, dark and quiet, and like most normal people, Steve was sleeping.

_Just sleeping._

 

It was two in the morning, dark and quiet, and once again, Tony was watching Steve sleep.

_He’s just sleeping._

Tony warred with himself for a moment, needing _reassurance,_ but at the same time, so conditioned to ignoring that need.

Reaching out, with so much more surety than he actually felt, Tony gently shook Steve awake, brown waiting to alight on blue, and dispel the growing unease.

Steve’s sleepy eyes opened, and blinked once into the soft light, and Tony breathed in relief, relaxing into waiting arms, only the slightest sliver of shame niggling at the back of his mind.

A hand settled gently against the side of his face, and Tony turned into it at the same time the words met his ears, _“Look into my eyes. You will see what you mean to me,”_ Steve whispered.

Tony looked.

_Warmth, frustration, kindness,_

_affection, trust, irritation, loyalty,_

_protectiveness, exasperation, adoration…_

And in that instant, Tony realized that Steve’s eyes weren’t the window to his soul at all.

They were the mirror to Tony’s own.

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up for all those who asked.  
> Also for those who didn't.
> 
> Not as happy with this one, but 'Say Something' is a difficult song to follow.  
> I futzed with the lyrics a smidge on this one, but..."Everything I do, I do for you" by Bryan Adams, was the original inspiration.
> 
> Enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration comes from strange places and muse demands even stranger things be written.  
> I might be persuaded to have a go at another of these if anyone enjoyed ;)
> 
> As always, no beta...tell me if you see errors and are feeling charitable.
> 
> Happy reading :)
> 
> 04/04/14  
> So.   
> I give.   
> The readers are always right - and so this is getting a follow up :)


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